


Merci

by thatluckyrabbit



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: AU, AU from the movie, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Captivity, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, No Romance, Recovered Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatluckyrabbit/pseuds/thatluckyrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU if Clopin had been the object of Frollo's dark desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merci

**Author's Note:**

> Awww... my poor Clopin DX 
> 
> Sorry, I just had to write something of what MY take would be on the "Fropin" pairing, aka the "pairing" of Frollo/Clopin. I don't think it would be romantic at all, at least not for Clopin. It would be rape on Frollo's part. There's no way Clopin would consent to have sex with him, and while I didn't mention WHY Clopin is his prisoner in this, assume the only reason why: it was his only way to protect his people, by giving himself up. Except that was before he realized why Frollo wanted him. 
> 
> And 'merci' in French means "thank you". 
> 
> "Haunted," "Surrender" and "Snow White Queen" by Evanescence each fit this "pairing" perfectly.

 

A cold, clammy hand rested against his hip, while another arm arm slid around his waist. At the touch the male gypsy stiffened, as he always did when the older man tried to 'make him comfortable'.  
  
Something was muttered into his ear, but Clopin Trouillefou did not hear a single word of it. He was getting better at blocking out Claude Frollo's words, among every other horrible thing he was forced to put up with in this confinement. He could put up with not eating, not sleeping, and he could even put up with the beatings when he 'disobeyed'.  
  
But the one thing the former Gypsy King could not put up with was when Frollo touched him. And for Clopin, sadly, that was almost everyday. The touch of the older man's hands against his smooth and sometimes bruised brown skin ranged from sweet and gentle to rough and painful, and either way he _hated_ it. Clopin loathed it when Frollo touched him, whether it be his cheek, his arms, his legs or other parts of his body: mainly below his waist. It made him tense up and want to disappear into a dark cave and never come out, but he'd always come back to reality, and he always knew where he was and his situation.  
  
He was a prisoner. But not in the way he'd been previously used to up until a few months ago. All his life, when he was caught and thrown into the Palace of Justice, he'd be locked in a dark and cold cell with nothing but chains around his wrists and neck. Now he was a different kind of prisoner, abused and used for _only_ his body. That had been one of the main reasons Frollo had wanted him in the first place:  
  
His body.  
  
His slim form which seemed to become smaller with each day he was there. When he was served food or water he'd keep his head bowed and shoulders hunched. But when he was brought back to Frollo's bedroom each evening, it took everything within Clopin not to turn and run the other way. When the older man forced him to turn around, ripping the prisoner attire from his body and bending him over or forcing him onto his stomach, it took everything Clopin had not to start screaming bloody murder. He'd bite his lip so hard that blood would fall from his mouth as tears would stream down his cheeks. By the end of each session he was nothing more than a mess of blood and tears.  
  
Clopin's legs ached from their previous session, but this time he was able to block the pain away. At least for now, anyway. Instead he wished he could at least be given his own bed, or be thrown into a cold, dark cell so he wouldn't be forced to lie naked with the man who  _raped_ him almost everyday.  
  
If his faith in God hadn't been shattered long ago, it certainly was gone now. But even so, the gypsy would always stare hard at the window across from him, at the moon and night sky that seemed just beyond his reach. And in his desperation he would send a prayer for his suffering to end. _'Just make it stop, make it stop, make it stop...'_  
  
Tonight, however, he forced himself to glare at the wall instead, trying to take his mind off of his situation; to pretend as if he were anywhere but here in this hell. When Frollo started stroking his bare hip, Clopin forced his swollen eyes shut. And in the back of his mind, where there was only a comforting darkness, he could hear his mother humming an old lullaby she used to sing to him as a child. There were no words, but he could hear her voice so clearly. This surprised him greatly. For the longest time he'd always thought he had forgetten the sound of his own mother's voice—a mother who was killed so long ago that he'd almost started to forget what she looked like too.  
  
Slowly his dark brown eyes opened and drifted upward toward the window. The moon and the stars were already there to greet him, but that wasn't what made him smile—a small smile that had been the first in months.  
  
 _'Merci, merci, merci...'_  
  
It might have been a fluke, but Clopin hoped that this was a blessing in disguise. At this point that was all he could really hope for, all he could really want: something, even a distant memory, to comfort him in his ordeal.


End file.
